


Her Pale White Skin

by Elise_Davidson



Category: Scrubs
Genre: Because some folks still don't understand, F/F, F/M, Nobody knows until it happens to them, Suicide, self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Davidson/pseuds/Elise_Davidson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time was an accident.  The second was excusable.  The third may have been justifiable.  The fourth was just too pale, too red, and too accusatory to mean everything that couldn't be said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Pale White Skin

The first time it had happened, she said it was because she'd done it once in high school, and it was only a relapse. After all, when it had happened in high school, her mother had thrown her into an asylum for the summer to remind her of what crazy people were _really_ like.

She didn't think she'd ever forget the screams that echoed down the hallways at night, or the orderlies in white coats that had dragged silent, waxy faces with glassy, dazed eyes into padded rooms. Then there were the thumps and strangled burbles that had drifted from those comfortable rooms after the sun had gone down.

Then there were the ones who managed to escape, but were only brought back a week later, having only made it a couple of miles from the asylum before someone noticed something "not right".

Her mother had only told her that if she wanted to be crazy, she might as well get used to the people who truly _were_ insane as opposed to people who only _wanted_ to be.

Elliot stared at the mirror in the humid, foggy bathroom and wiped her hand against the glass. It had shoved her away from her interest in psychology at the time. It had been the reason she'd never wanted to have coffee with Dr. Molly Clock.

Sweet Molly…Molly, who saw everything, who noticed everything. Molly, who analyzed a person right down to their very soul in a matter of minutes and seemed to know all of the right things to say to make a person feel better about themselves.

In the end, curiosity had won out for Elliot. She had brought the woman a couple of cups and coffee, and in all of her clumsy glory, had spilled both right onto Molly.

Dear Molly, who never noticed anything out of the ordinary with Elliot other than the usual anxious neuroses that seemed to run rampant around the hospital.

Elliot stared at her clean face, freshly scrubbed from a shower. Her damp hair, while still cut to perfection, was falling back into its old waves as it dried. Pieces were beginning to frizz around her face, and her complexion held red spots here and there where the tone was uneven.

Elliot turned away from the mirror, wrapping a towel around her head to dry her hair. There wasn't a lot of time that went by anymore without her hair being perfectly straightened to its edgy style, or her eyes being rimmed in tasteful kohl liner.

As she walked into her bedroom, Elliot stared at the newer, more adult décor that gave the room the feeling that a young woman lived there. She remembered her old things with disgust, and gave a small "hmph" noise that whoever had stolen them could damn well keep them.

Elliot flipped the straightening iron on as she carefully chose a long-sleeved shirt, and then a t-shirt to go over it. The jeans she plucked out next, and then carefully held the outfit together.

A new haircut and make-up knowledge hadn't taken away the high school girl inside of her.

Elliot gave a withering glance to the short-sleeve shirts at the end of her closet. They'd been shoved there weeks ago since it had happened again.

Except this time, there was no mother to throw her into an asylum. There were no screaming patients in the middle of the night, or a roommate who had laughed at her reason for being there. There were no padded rooms or stone-faced orderlies who looked at her scared face with pity.

Elliot picked up the short-sleeved t-shirts on impulse, and threw them into a box. It was then shoved under her bed along with a box of scrubs she no longer chose to wear.

The hot straightening iron gave a beep, and Elliot glanced at it for a moment before she walked past it and into the bathroom again.

The mirror had a smudged swipe against the glass where her fingerprints had dried. She picked up a towel and wiped them away to stare at her clean, unmade-up face.

That was the old Elliot.

It was an hour before she was perfecting the shiny lip gloss she wore to make her lips look fuller that Elliot glanced at her image again.

This was the new Elliot. She still hadn't put her clothes on, and stood only in her underwear. She inspected her body with hard eyes, pinching here and there for a moment. Red marks bloomed where she had squeezed the skin and checked for unwanted fat the way her mother had shown her every day since she was five.

Elliot nodded finally in slight approval, and glanced at her face again. New face, new haircut…none of those things would ever erase the old issues.

It always happened in the bathroom, and Elliot always remembered. She pulled the rubbing alcohol from the medicine cabinet, along with surgical thread and a hospital-grade needle, just in case.

She hadn't gotten around to getting a stapler, which was infinitely easier and healed cleaner.

Elliot stared now at her arms and legs, where thin white scars ran from the middle of her forearm up to her shoulders. She never liked sex with the lights on, but now she had real reasons not to.

Elliot plucked the thin razor blade from the cabinet, and stared at it for a moment in debate.

The first time it had happened since high school, Elliot had brushed it off as some minor relapse of the day. But even then, she hadn't been able to deny how much calmer she'd felt, even as her hands shook while she cleaned off the sink and her skin.

The second time it had happened, Elliot had remembered a small, minor breakdown in which she freaked over whether or not she was insane. But it had still wiped away the anxiety of the day. All of the stress from struggling to live up to Dr. Cox's expectations and his treatment of her had faded away.

The third time, however, Elliot had looked forward to it. And sure enough, even though her hands shook like mad and her stomach rolled in nausea, the memories of the past week had faded into blurs that didn't hurt her anymore.

Dealing with Cox's favoritism towards JD had been easier after that.

And of course, Elliot pretended not to hear the rumors going around about JD and Cox over _why_ he preferred someone like JD to Elliot. Then again, Elliot was the one who had started the rumor herself.

That had been where Jordan had been a huge help. If there was anyone who could spread a rumor faster than Laverne, Jordan was possibly it.

And Jordan, in true demonic glory and hatred of Perry, had been more than happy to help.

Elliot glanced down suddenly, realizing her hand had begun moving before she'd told it to. But that had happened before as well, and it no longer frightened her.

The blood seeped to the top of the skin, drizzling down her arm like the pomegranate juice her mother had forced down her throat in lieu of meals to make her lose weight in junior high.

There were only two things that scared Elliot anymore about the whole situation, and one of them was that she couldn't _stop_.

The other was that she didn't _want_ to.

XXXXXXXXX

Jordan tapped her foot impatiently outside of Elliot's door. She checked her watch to make sure that she was on time. It annoyed her that she did so, and she finally gave in and knocked sharply on the door with her knuckles.

"Hey, Stick," Jordan snapped. "I don't care if I'm on time or not! Whenever I knock on the door, that means I'm here now, and that means get your skinny ass to the door!"

A creak drew Jordan's attention to the door across from Elliot's, and she stared vehemently at the beady, nosy eyes that glared at her.

"Take a picture, Grandma, it'll last longer," Jordan hissed smartly.

The door snapped shut with a slam.

Jordan turned back to the wooden door and knocked sharply again. "Stick, I wasn't kidding! If you don't answer this door in the next five seconds, I'm leaving to go find another toy to break!"

The door opened just as Jordan raised her hand again, and Elliot jerked back to avoid the swinging fist. Jordan felt more irritation rise to the surface when Elliot raised a calm eyebrow and stood to the side.

"Come in?" Elliot asked, and her tone suggested amusement, though it wasn't cleanly apparent on the surface.

Jordan brushed past her, shoulder bumping hard into Elliot's as she stepped into the apartment. "Does it always take you that long to answer the door or did you stop to have a nervous breakdown on the way?"

Elliot didn't seem to hear her though. "I'll just get my coat."

Jordan glared after her. "What's _up_ with you, Stick? I could've gotten _something_ out of you by now."

Elliot did turn at that. "Well, if you give me a few drinks, you'll get plenty." She disappeared into the bedroom to grab her purse.

Jordan frowned as she finally recognized Elliot's attitude. She had been seeing the younger woman off and on for a year now, and while Jordan didn't care to know why, she could still spot the aftermath from a mile away.

Jordan stepped into Elliot's bedroom breezily, and snatched the blonde's wrist to turn her around in the dim lighting.

"Did it again, did you?" Jordan asked evenly.

Elliot shrugged and snatched her arm away. "What's it to you?" she replied peevishly. She leaned over and flipped off a lamp, walking past Jordan with a hooded sweater in her hand. "You coming?"

Jordan walked after her. "It's not much to me, Stick, except I'm the one that has to sleep with you later."

"You've never complained before," Elliot replied, and then an impish grin came over the numbly calm expression, alighting her face to a different tone. "Much, anyway."

Jordan rolled her eyes, debating whether to make this an argument or not. She grabbed Elliot by the belt loops on her jeans, pulling her back to her.

"Not my sanity at stake," Jordan replied with a shrug.

"I don't nag you about you and Per-bear playing happy couple, do I?"

Jordan shrugged, hands tracing up Elliot's sides. "Point and match, Stick. You want to stay in tonight?"

Elliot slipped from Jordan's grasp, pulling the sweater over her head. "Not really."

Jordan walked out the door with a conceding shrug. "Fine by me, Stick."

It was much later, in the darkness of Jordan's room, that the older woman flipped on a soft lamp and sat up, sheets pooling at her waist and exposing her to the light. She pulled the sheets down from Elliot's shoulders, ignoring the sleepy groan that the blonde girl gave as she fell back asleep.

Jordan traced her nails gently over Elliot's shoulder, fingers touching the soft, pale skin as she went down further. Her hand gently wrapped around Elliot's wrist, pulling the arm into the shadowy lighting of the darkened lamp.

The few cuts that were new didn't make her recoil as she'd expected. Jordan instead looked at one that had required neat, surgical stitching. She brought her other hand up to trace the thread, wondering idly if Elliot preferred one arm to the other.

Jordan shook her head and gently lay Elliot's arm back to the blankets. She leaned over and flipped the lamp off again.

Moonlight shone gently into the room, turning Elliot's white skin to a bluish tint that only made the older, white scars stand out.

Jordan lay her head down on the pillow, hands clasped beneath her chin as she struggled to work out what was becoming a deeply involved puzzle.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next time Jordan recognized the numbly calm expression on Elliot's face, the anger was worse than before.

Elliot sat on the couch, her face blank in the dim lighting of Jordan's apartment. Long sleeves covered her arms, but it wasn't an uncommon sight. At least, not for the past few months.

Jordan sat across from her on the coffee table, her face angry and cool. "Why don't you just off yourself?"

Elliot shrugged. "Because I don't want to."

"Well, it's definitely one of the dumber things I've seen you repeat over the years, though that tryst with DJ came close," Jordan replied, leaning back as she stared at Elliot's covered arms. "Or any of the other numerous relationships you've tried to get yourself out of."

Elliot didn't speak now, though her face was finally becoming slightly angry.

Jordan ran back over what she had just said, and a look of bright recognition crossed her features. "Oh my god, Stick…is that what this is?" She stood angrily and snatched her coat from the kitchen counter.

"What?" Elliot asked as she stood in confusion.

"Christ, princess…if you'd wanted out of this thing, you didn't have to be a sad little scaredy-cat over breaking up. That's for high school kids, and so is this new… _habit_ you've gotten yourself into." She pulled on her jacket.

Elliot stared at her in bafflement. "That's _not_ what this is about!"

Jordan whirled. "Then what is it, Stick?" she snapped. "Enlighten me, why don't you? I'm not a simpleton just because _I_ didn't go to medical school. Why is it that you sit around in your bathroom, dragging some knife up and down your arms like a complete whack-job?"

Elliot didn't have an answer ready, her mouth open in silence.

Jordan nodded sharply. "My point exactly. If you'd wanted to end this stupid thing, you should've told me." She wrapped Elliot's collar in her fist and yanked her close to her face, their noses a bare inch apart. "Christ knows I'll be glad to be rid of you _and_ your problems." She shoved Elliot back and slammed the door behind her.

Elliot felt the tears gathering behind her eyes, and let out her breath in a whoosh as her shoulders slumped down with it. Her arms tingled beneath the sleeves, and a slight ache made her chest begin to whimper in pain.

The ache grew stronger as Elliot headed to her bedroom, not feeling much else than the growing pain in her chest. She finally stumbled to the bed, falling on the covers and facing the ceiling.

It was easier, Elliot reasoned with herself. This was the best thing for them both. It was better that they ended it now anyway, before things got too serious.

But as the ache in her chest intensified and the tears spilled free of her eyes, Elliot picked herself off the bed and headed to the bathroom.

This time, she didn't remember anything after smelling the astringent scent of the rubbing alcohol or feeling the cool, flat metal of the razor blade as she pressed it over her pale skin, the flesh turning white against red.

XXXXXXXXXXX

It had barely been a week when Jordan called Elliot over to the apartment. Jordan hadn't expected Elliot to say yes, let alone be there in less than ten minutes.

Jordan opened the door. "Desperate, Stick?"

Elliot shrugged as she walked in and sat down on the couch. "You didn't give me a chance to explain."

"I don't want to hear it." Jordan crossed her arms and didn't sit. "I don't want to hear about how that boy touched you badly in elementary school, or how high school wasn't everything you'd always thought it'd be. I certainly don't want to hear about how you gave it up to the wrong guy in college, or how I don't give you enough loving or whatever stupid thing it is that you do this over."

Elliot shrugged. "Fair enough; I don't really want to tell you why, except that everything you've just said makes you sound full of it."

Jordan glared at her. "You're sure as hell not the first person to ever tell me I'm full of it, and you won't be the last." She sat down beside of Elliot and gave her a withering glance. "You think you're doing better now?"

Elliot nodded with a carefully neutral look on her face. It was one she had perfected just before meeting Molly, and had always been enough to deter anyone and everyone who bothered to ask about her.

"I'm just fine, you know," Elliot finally said after a moment. "Really."

Jordan stared at her for a moment, and grasped Elliot's chin firmly in a surprising show of intense affection that normally didn't pass between them. It made Elliot's heart skip a beat in both anxiety and caring as Jordan stared at her carefully.

"Liar." Jordan released her chin with a shake of her head. "And Per-bear calls _me_ the devil incarnate."

Elliot shrugged and leaned into Jordan's side, twining the fingers of her hand with one of the older woman's.

"Maybe you rubbed off on me through association," Elliot replied, staring at the contrasting tones of their hands.

Jordan's skin was perfectly tanned to a lightly bronzed peach, but Elliot steadfastly stayed away from sunlight and tanning booths. Her skin remained pale and white, as always, though the pastiness seemed to have faded in the past few years.

Jordan tugged her up. "Come on, Stick. Getting too deep."

Elliot nodded at the honest remark and lay down on the bed. She began to remove her shirt out of sheer habit when Jordan stopped her.

Jordan looked at her for a moment. "You're headed for an absolute disaster."

Elliot shrugged. "But I'm not there yet."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jordan lay quietly in the bed, the lamp on this time. Elliot had long since fallen asleep, and they hadn't yet had sex for the night.

It bothered Jordan somewhat that they hadn't. It was what the relationship was supposed to be about, wasn't it? It was supposed to be something fun, something to relieve the stress of both their jobs, something to just have a blast with.

Then again, Jordan didn't think those types of relationships lasted for over a year and a half. It wasn't just something fun anymore, and Jordan knew that better than anyone, if only because she had felt the beginnings of worry for Elliot.

Elliot was tucked securely against Jordan's side now as it was, her arms wrapped around the older woman's waist and her blonde head nudged into Jordan's shoulder.

Jordan blew a piece of hair out of her face, and cursed Elliot for the habit. She leaned her head against the headboard of the bed, hand gently running lines up and down Elliot's back.

Elliot had been quiet that night, which wasn't uncommon these days. Jordan didn't know if she should like it much that she was beginning to read Elliot better than anyone else.

Jordan had broken down and even called DJ over it. She had let him know, in no uncertain terms, that if he went blabbing to Per-bear about it that she'd rip his spleen out through his ears.

But even then, DJ hadn't been much help, and he hadn't seemed to know what "problem" Jordan was referring to.

Jordan sighed and stared at Elliot's arms. Some of the scars were completely white against Elliot's pale skin, and others were a violent shade of purple as they healed. There were tiny circular scars where some had been stitched back together (Elliot never went to the hospital), and some fresh ones.

Jordan wondered idly why Elliot never talked about it. She supposed it was because Elliot wanted to talk about it as much as Jordan wanted to hear about it. Recently, however, Jordan had wanted to ask.

Sighing, Jordan slid down until she stared both at the ceiling and at Elliot's gently moving body. She kissed Elliot's hair with the knowledge that Elliot was asleep.

"I can't pretend to understand…you know that," Jordan said quietly against Elliot's hair. "God, I wish I could though. I feel like I'm losing you somehow, and I don't know what to do about it." She sighed against Elliot's head. "I'm losing you, Elliot."

Elliot mumbled against Jordan's collarbone, and readjusted her head. "Some things you lose, and other things you just end up giving away." She fell back asleep almost right after she'd said it.

Jordan sighed and looked at Elliot's arms again. She reached up and gently held Elliot's head beneath her hand, squeezing her eyes shut against the abrupt ache that began deep in her stomach and made her throat hurt.

Unexpected wetness trailed down Jordan's cheeks. She wasn't giving Elliot away. She was losing her.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Jordan stood quietly after everyone had gone. The day was rainy and overcast, the chilled water falling from the skies. It was beginning to turn to ice, making small clinking sounds against the stone. It was cold, and she shivered beneath her black overcoat, but she couldn't bring herself to leave just yet.

The questions rang perilously in her mind, sharply asked and answered in mumbles.

_Did you know she was injuring herself?_

_Why didn't you tell any of us?_

_Christ, Jorderoo…even I would've done something!_

_How could you let her do this to herself?_

_Where's Barbie, mommy?_

_How the hell could you let this happen; she trusted you!_

Jordan wished the voices would stop asking the questions, even though no one was around her. Of course she'd known. She hadn't told because she'd been asked not to. She didn't do anything because it wasn't her story to tell. She'd let her do it because there wasn't anything she could do to stop it.

And she had been trusted. She had been trusted not to tell.

Jordan struggled to shove the image away in her head now of Elliot's pale, white skin with the far-too-deep lacerations that showed little bits of muscle and something that looked suspiciously like _bone_. Jordan kneeled down on the wet grass, hands pressed over her eyes and palms shoved against her ears.

She couldn't get the blood off her hands or out of her eyes. She couldn't get Elliot's whispered voice from her head, couldn't get the resounding questions at the hospital out of her mind.

Jordan raised her head finally, hands dropping to twist themselves into the grass. She hadn't held Elliot tight enough, hadn't loved her enough. Something she'd done…she wished she could remember now so she could get the twisted cuts and withered scars from her mind.

Jordan simply hadn't been good enough for Elliot to _stay_.

Not sure of where she stood at all, Jordan raised her face to the sky, letting the cold drops of ice sting against her face and wash away the make-up she'd so carefully applied that morning.

Just as she'd lost Elliot, now she was giving a part of herself away. For the first time, Jordan finally understood and only shut her eyes tightly to alleviate the terrible pain that still clawed angrily at her chest.

"Christ, Stick," Jordan hissed quietly, still unable to call her by her actual name, even now. Calling her Elliot…Jordan had the feeling it'd only make the pain more real, more vivid…more than she could deal with, even now. "Why couldn't you have just…Jesus, I could've _helped_ somehow. Why couldn't you…"

Jordan didn't finish, anger surging up through her chest and cresting horribly with the pain. Just three rows over, Ben was buried and decaying in the ground. The only other person in Jordan's life that she'd ever felt trusted her with more than silly secrets…now they were both gone.

Jordan glared at the stone, refusing to read the name and years, and even whatever dippy description of Elliot that her parents had chosen to put on it. Jordan hadn't bothered to offer condolences to the Reid family, if only because she hadn't wanted to face more questions.

"You done taking away the people I care about?" Jordan muttered to the sky, though she didn't stare at it. "Do you think you've broken me enough yet?" She twisted the grass harder, fingers going numb in the cold, wet blades. "Why couldn't you have just taken me instead of either one of them, huh?"

Nothing answered her but the tiny clinks that fell upon the tombstones in the cemetery.

XXXXXXXXX

The first time it happened, Jordan told herself it made everything else feel better. The second time, she didn't think upon it closely because she knew why. The third time it happened, she didn't think at all.

After the fourth time, Jordan lost count and understood why.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


End file.
